


working title: SHIELD Agent!Stiles AU. Post S6, MCU Timeline Altered.

by CescaLR



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Teen Wolf (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: <- these will be necessary, Alternate Universe, Canon Divergence - Avengers (2012), Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Gen, Nick Fury Knows All, Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Phil Coulson Has the Patience of a Saint, Post-Season/Series 06 Finale, SHIELD, SHIELD Agent Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-09-01 12:42:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20258272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CescaLR/pseuds/CescaLR
Summary: There's a lot they never got to do, back in Beacon Hills. 2011 was a time for a lot of hardship and pain, really, in the latter half of the year, and 2012 was a mess from start to finish. 2013 was better, just because by the end of it Stiles had been fucking done with Beacon Hills and was off in Virginia, doing FBI intern stuff.Well. Ignoring that blip with the Anuk-ite. Stiles still didn't know why looking straight at the thing never did anything to him, but, well, no-one else knows. So. He just privately wonders.Anyway. Beacon Hills was very, very busy. For a very long time. If things happened in the wider world, Stiles never paid enough attention to know. But it's 2014, now, and Stiles is in Quantico, and more importantly, he works - sort of - for the FBI. He can't afford to be ignorant.Superheroes are a weird one, though.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Necessary explanation of the changes:  
MCU Timeline: Same until Tony's birth, which is two years later. Everything after that is two years later as well, and by this fact, Maria Stark doesn't die with Howard (for my own peace of mind, she will die peacefully at the age of ninety in her sleep). Iron Man happens in 2009, Iron Man 2 in 2012, Avengers in 2014, late December. Other films follow this altered timeline. I won't be using MCU canon for Captain Marvel, as I haven't watched the film, I'll just make up my own from what I can gather of the comics - probably use Walter Lawson for the previous version and Monica Rambeau for the present-day, We'll see. If Kara - I'm sorry, Carol Danvers shows up, she'll be Miss Marvel. Highly unlikely because for that I'd need the x-men and I've a) never read a comic and b) not watched any of the movies, so... yeah. Unlikely. 
> 
> For Teen Wolf, Season six is altered. At the end of season six, Stiles and Lydia don't get together; they hug because they love each other and they're best friends, and after it all blows over Stiles and Malia have a proper conversation where they break-up with no hard feelings and they still video call often. Season 6B happens pretty much exactly the same way, except Scott and Malia don't get together, Scott and Lydia do, and Malia has a few months in France after the fact, back by the time this fic starts by a month or so. She meets Isaac and they bond, it's awesome. They help each other get cute dates and shit, bond over the shit BH has thrown at them, they're good besties. Melissa and Chris move in together, because they love each other, about two months before the start of this fic. Chris takes back control of the hunters in the area in the mess after the Anuk-Ite business, and everything goes very nicely. They're all happy. Mostly. 
> 
> Mostly.

There's a lot they never got to do, back in Beacon Hills. 2011 was a time for a lot of hardship and pain, really, in the latter half of the year, and 2012 was a mess from start to finish. 2013 was better, just because by the end of it Stiles had been fucking _done _with Beacon Hills and was off in Virginia, doing FBI intern stuff. 

Well. Ignoring that blip with the Anuk-ite. Stiles still didn't know why looking straight at the thing never did anything to him, but, well, no-one else knows. So. He just _privately _wonders. 

Anyway. Beacon Hills was very, very busy. For a very long time. If things happened in the wider world, Stiles never paid enough attention to know. But it's 2014, now, and Stiles is in Quantico, and more importantly, he works - sort of - for the FBI. He can't afford to be ignorant.

Superheroes are a weird one, though.

* * *

Stiles walks into the office he was asked to meet Agent Johnson in, and pauses at the man in a black coat with a distinctly noticable black eyepatch (Stiles is sensing a theme) he sees instead of the balding, short instructor he was expecting. 

Stiles wonders if this is another reprimand for the stunt he pulled last year. Honestly, you'd think by now they'd be over the whole thing with the Anuk-ite, but it turns out fucking off without telling anyone, helping a supposed 'high threat' individual - well, technically, set of individuals - and pretending to be proper FBI in the process is. Well. It took a lot of schmoosing on a lot of people's parts to smooth that over. Stiles is still rather proud of his part in that, all told. 

Keeping the supernatural a secret is _exhausting. _Whenever a case comes up that's clearly a rogue hunter or a wendigo or whatever the fuck, Stiles can't say anything. It's damn annoying. 

"Mi-"

"Oh god," Stiles says, probably unwisely, but, _no. _"Please don't. It's Stiles, just - always Stiles."

The man looks flatly at him. "Stiles Stilinski," He continues, not missing a beat, "Former resident of Beacon Hills, Beacon County, California. Friends with at least five people who have appeared on at least one hit list for a _large _sum of money. One account of - off the record, undocumented, brushed aside - manslaughter, though truthfully in self-defense. Technically also vehicular homicide, though that was never proven."

Stiles doesn't wince, or flinch, because, well. He fucking _knew _this was gonna come up at some point, he just wasn't sure when.

"It wasn't called homicide because he didn't die," Stiles says. "And that was in defence of others if you forget, the man had a gun. Also, Donovan was trying to _eat me. _I'm over feeling guilty for stopping that. Finally, it's not _my fault _Meredith was crazy, god."

"You don't deny it?" Stiles thinks it's a question, so he answers.

"No," Stiles says. "I'm a smartass, not stupid. C'mon, what's the reason you're here?"

"Not to arrest you," The man says, "Though you act like you weren't expecting that."

"If you wanted me arrested I would be," Stiles says. "I literally live in the hometown of the _FBI. _Well, one of them. And I work for them. It wouldn't be that hard to put me away, so bothering with this meeting, probably not a sign of you wanting that."

"Hmm." The man considers him. "There has, recently, come into my understanding that there is a large branch of the secrets of the world that I do not have a true understanding of." He clasps his hands in front of himself, and stands. "Many of the people on my payroll have similar pasts to your own, though it is classified information to know if there are worse or better ones," His lips quirk up, slightly, for a split second. "However your track record regarding knowing things you aren't supposed to know indicates that doesn't mean much to you... like many of the people on my payroll."

"You're a spy, aren't you?" Stiles says. "Not CIA though. Johnson was too twitchy for that. Something less know. Probably not officially linked to the Government. About two years ago Tony Stark was kidnapped - missed it at the time, which is a real shame, that Iron Man reveal press conference is pretty damn awesome, and Maria Stark's total fucking takedown of Stane is a sight to behold - but... there were bits and pieces, some very quickly quietened rumours. Not everything you read is true - some guy called Shaun was yelling about that drug company Abstergo being a fucking totalitarian conspiracy about five years back on Reddit - but, like, the way he stopped was normal. He rescinded all the claims and shit - but the people talking about a secret agency and some people being seen following Stark and talking to Stark Sr? It adds up."

"Abstergo is, in fact, a totalitarian conspiracy," The man says. "It's a nightmare to deal with. But, yes. The 'Secret agency' I run is called SHEILD. I am Director Nick Fury, and I have a job offer for you."

"Oh," Stiles says. "Fun. What're you selling?"

"You aren't phased," Nick notes. 

"Well, no," Stiles shrugs. "Too much effort. After you deal with the shit I have, you kinda give up on being phased by the unexpected. You just tend to expect it."

"Good," Nick says. "Pack. We'll be leaving for SHIELD headquarters in the morning."

"Hold on, I haven't even said yes yet," Stiles protests.

"Are you going to?" Nick asks. 

"Well. No," Stiles allows. Stiles is nosy as fuck, and at the very least it sounds _interesting. _And, like he's said, pretending the supernatural doesn't exist is _exhausting... _"But-"

"Tomorrow, six am," Nick says, not letting him explain his hesitancy. "There will be a car down the side road next to your apartment, on the left as you exit. Don't be late. And don't tell anyone."

"Oh, don't worry," Stiles says, mirthlessly. "I can keep a secret."

"Good," Nick says, and with that, he departs. Johnson comes in, twitchy and sweating, and Stiles raises an eyebrow at him until he caves. 

"My advice," The man says. "Say no."

Well then. Stiles smirks and turns around and exits, and the man sighs heavily. Stiles doesn't particularly like Johnson - he's kind of an asshole - so Stiles is fully determined to go just to spite him.

Of course, being an Agent, the man could've said that for exactly that reason. It's not like the dislike _isn't_ mutual, after all. 

* * *

"Don't visit this weekend dude," Stiles says when Scott answers the bi-weekly video call. "I'm off somewhere for work. They haven't said where yet, being all secretive bastards."

"So you fit right in then," Scott teases lightly. 

"You know it," Stiles says. "How's taking over Deaton's goin' for ya?"

Stiles wishes Scott would just go to UC Davis and get out of BH, but. He gets why, in a sense, Scott hasn't. Scott's not the only one left; there's Liam and Hayden and Mason and Corey and Malia, Braeden and Derek visit very occasionally and - well, Theo and Peter are there too, Stiles supposes, though any support they offer is decidedly dubious in his eyes. 

Cora visits Stiles more often than she visits BH. Stiles knows why; she was the first - ish, depending on who you count - to get the hell out of dodge, and she has no intention of ever going back. Stiles salutes her in her endeavours, and honestly, sometimes he wishes he could have her commitment to staying the fuck away from the death zone, but, alas. He doesn't, because his dad is there, and his friends. Luckily, they all visit often enough he can beg off going to BH for extended periods of time. It's nice. Less death, pain, maiming, Stiles is almost unused to it. 

Which is quite sad, really, so he doesn't think about that much. 

Anyway. 

"Well enough," Scott says. "Deaton's helping out, of course, from wherever he is. Doing Druid work."

"Gotta keep that balance in check," Stiles says. "Get called Doctor again yet?"

Stiles smiles as Scott flushes awkwardly. "I keep telling them I'm not, but it keeps happening." He says. 

"You're good at what you do, bro, and they're kids, some of 'em," Stiles says. "C'mon. Why don't you just make it official already?"

"I've got - someone has to run the vet while Deaton's gone," Scott says, a regular excuse. "I can't just - leave."

"Sure you can," Stiles says. "Deaton's a grown man, he can hire someone to look after the place while you're at UC Davis. This shit's your passion, helping people, and you can do it better if you know what you're doing even more than you already do."

"I know," Scott says. "Just..."

"Promise me you'll send out everything for this September," Stiles says. "It's not too late yet."

Scott hesitates. "But..." 

"I know the kid worries you," Stiles says, and, to be fair, the kid worries him too. "But you're not leaving him alone to deal with all the bullshit. Or don't you trust Mal, Liam, Mason, et cetera?"

"Of course I do," Scott says. 

"So trust them," Stiles says. "Isn't that what you keep telling me?"

Scott cracks a smile at that, and shrugs. "I'll send off the applications," He says. "We'll... we'll see what comes through."

"Nice one," Stiles says. "Alright. Tell everyone I said hi, and that I don't know when I'll be able to call next. Well. Leave Theo in the dark for my amusement, please."

Scott rolls his eyes. "He's changed," Scott says. "And just for that, I'm gonna tell him first."

"Dick," Stiles says, smiling. "I can just not like the guy, you know. Anyway - see you whenever, dude."

"Bye, Stiles," Scott smiles, and ends the call. 

Stiles turns around, picks up the case from the floor next to his wardrobe, and drops it on the bed. It bounces a couple times while he goes to grab some of the basic shit he'll need - some underwear, trousers, t-shirts, two hoodies and a couple shirts, because he's not just wearing a t-shirt, why the fuck would he do that, he'd rather wear five layers than one, and no, that has nothing to do with the cold (and, yeah, everything to do with the _memory _of a chill he just couldn't shake, and the feel of blood soaking through his shirt onto his arms, torso- you know, horribly traumatising shit) - and is still when he returns to drop what he'd gathered into it. He moves to his bathroom and grabs his toothbrush, toothpaste, and shaving stuff, then drops them along with all the other bits and pieces he'll need into the case. 

Done, Stiles changes, drops into bed, and sets his alarm for stupid-o'clock. 

* * *

Stiles, in working for the FBI, has had to do more exercise than just running for his life, occasionally fighting, and (more often than is ever wanted) dragging his unconscious or injured friends out of the line of fire.

For the FBI, he's had to learn to shoot, he's had to learn to fight properly (not just swinging a bat - or a wrench - around and hoping for the best, though using his head to perform an uppercut to the neck in order to snap the other's head back and loosen their grip got an approving nod, and apparently his swinging technique was inefficient, who knew - and apparently he had a strong fucking swing, because the instructor was surprised to hear he'd smashed a bat on a very strong wall - the twins might as well have been a wall - instead of his _hands_) and he's had to - well, work out. Keep in shape. Lucky he knew how to eat well, from keeping track of his Dad's diet, but working out? Ha. 

Still. He's gotten a lot better at it over time. 

This is important knowledge, because when he leaves the apartment that morning, he's jumped. Or, they attempt to jump him, but he sees them out of the corner of his eye just in time to dodge, just like he was taught, and then use their momentum against them - in the form of hefting up his case and slamming it into the back of their knees - to drop them to the ground. 

"Ow." The person says. "That was not worth it."

"Not really, no," Stiles says. "Seriously? In broad daylight?"

"What did you hit me with?" The person groaned in pain as they stood up and removed the mask - a girl around his age with blonde hair and tanned skin. "Oh." She looks at his case and grimaces. "This was not worth ten dollars." She gestures over at the alleyway, wide enough for a car, deep enough with a weird turn into a generally empty yard that seeing if anything was down there was always difficult, and Stiles understands what's going on here immediately. 

"Here," Stiles says, fishing out a note - twenty, ouch, but oh well. "Don't tell anyone this happened."

"Not planning on it," She says. The girl shoves the mask into his hands and takes the twenty. "Those people are fuckin' weird. Your friends?"

"Not really," Stiles says. "More like - work acquaintances. FBI, you know."

"Oh shit," She says. "I'm pretending this never happened."

"Probably for the best," Stiles says, distracted, as he looks down the alley. The girl walks off, to the right, as Stiles shrugs and walks into the shaded alley, like a complete idiot. 

"Just a test," A man says, and Stiles looks up at the fire escape. The man walks down and then drops off to the ground and holds out his hand. Stiles gives him the mask, which is probably not what he wanted, but on well. 

"Agent Coulson," The man introduces himself as. Stiles is instructed to get in the black van, which would normally be very suspicious, and, frankly, still is, but Stiles figures secret agencies are always very suspicious, so he doesn't linger on that too long. 

The van, being a van, doesn't really have windows in the back. Stiles won't know where they're going, and this is all very ridiculous and spy-like, and frankly, he's bothered, but he's trying not to show it. 

Being spies, though, Stiles figures the people in the van can tell.

It's probably the tactic they're trying. Rude, really, because they're using his anxiety against him, but, to be fair, they're _spies. _That's what they do. Of course - there's also the tactic of waiting him out, having him be the first person to talk, which, also rude, using his ADHD against him. But, again. Spies. 

Jokes on them, though. Stiles is very good at sitting in silence. 

His thoughts are enough to keep him occupied.

A good half-hour later (Stiles has kept track, and he's actually pretty good at that, funnily enough) Agent Coulson stops staring him down and starts talking.

"Mr-"

"Stiles," Stiles says. Honestly, when will people get it? 

"Stiles," Coulson says, missing no beats just like Nick - must be a spy thing - then continues; "Have you figured out what the job might be, yet?"

"Probably something to do with the whole list of events Nick brought up," Stiles says. "Haven't heard anyone bring up the Deadpool in a while. And since you know about that, you know what it was _about, _right?"

"The supernatural," Coulson said, accurately. Partially.

"Eradication of the supernatural, actually," Stiles says. "Un-fun. Though, probably one of the easier things we had to deal with."

Nobody died, after all, and they gained more allies than they lost. Technically. Funnily enough, the Anuk-ite business had the _least _losses and the most gains. Take _that_, dickhead. 

"From what we've gathered it seems so," Coulson says. "We need people who know, and your history indicates a particular competency level that other candidates didn't quite have. And a lack of -"

"Bias?" Stiles asks. 

"In a sense," Coulson says. "We've hired quite a few people - some druids, a werejaguar and two hunters."

Werejaguars weren't common, as far as Stiles was aware. To be fair, though, he only really knows what he's come into contact with, personally. There wasn't any real downtime to learn about all this, and he'd never gotten a copy of that bestiary - and, anyway, it'd probably be pretty useless, being a hunter's guide to mayhem and murder, basically. 

"Right, because Druids want to keep the balance," Stiles says. "That makes sense."

"The hunters because of what they know," Coulson says, "And the werejaguar for personal experience."

"It's not all the same," Stiles says. "werewolves work slightly differently from coyotes and jaguars, and there are no werefoxes, for example - fox-based supernatural creatures are all Japanese. Kitsune, et cetera."

"Hence why we chose you," Coulson says. "You've experienced the widest range of supernatural beings we've encountered so far. Most tend to stay in their 'territory', from what we've found, and so they don't meet beings from other areas of the world - but Beacon Hills is a nexus, so to speak, and you were the only viable candidate from the region."

"Thanks," Stiles says, dryly. "Is this tactic 'make the target think they're the only option to increase chances of them saying yes in order to help save the world', or...?"

"Precisely," The man says, and allows a small smile. 

Stiles has gotta say, it's only kind of working. 

"You've got the others though," Stiles says. "I've only known for like, three years, ish. Will be once we hit September," He shrugs. "I don't know much, and I don't have much experience, honestly. Plenty of people out there that have known for decades, their whole lives, why not ask them?"

"We have," Coulson says. "It's all about perspective. The druids always knew, the werejaguar was bitten, the first hunter found out a decade or so ago and the other five years back. And you've experienced more than they have in only just over two years. None of them has experience with a place like Beacon Hills, and that's what we need."

"Oh, you need people fucked over by a Nemeton, you mean," Stiles says. "And a few crazy assholes. Alright. Sure. But why me? Tonnes of people lived through all that, you know."

"You seemed the most approachable," Coulson admits. "As you work for the FBI, it - allowed us easier access. And when the FBI was quietly asked if anyone they had could help - you were recommended."

"Fucking Agent Asshole," Stiles says. "Scott's dad, right? Agent McCall?"

"That's classified," Coulson says, a small smile appearing again. "Perhaps."

"Yeah, okay," Stiles leans back against the side of the van. "What if I don't wanna get wrapped up in someone else's supernatural shit? I've gone through enough of my own, thanks."

"You don't have to work field," Coulson says. 

"Don't be stupid, I couldn't take a desk job," Stiles says. "I can do paperwork but not all day. If I were to do this, I'd be a field agent."

Coulson inclines his head. "Then it's up to you," Coulson says. "But first."

He takes out a chunk of paperwork from his briefcase and hands it over. Stiles notes that it's a whole bunch of contracts - including an NDA - and raises an eyebrow at Coulson. 

"For security reasons," Coulson says. "You can't see the headquarters before you sign the papers."

"What if I sign the NDA and the others at some other point?" Stiles asks.

"There's a medical agreement, in case of injury or need for medication, and some other things specific to SHIELD," Coulson says. "You should read through it. You'll need to sign all of it to take the job, and if you don't want to sign some parts then that's you deciding not to take it."

"Right," Stiles let out, sighing. "The small print. Alright."

And so Stiles set about reading the paperwork. 

* * *

Stiles lost track of time while working through the paperwork. He wasn't sure how many hours had passed by the time he was done reading, and though he knew how long it had taken to decide to sign it all, he didn't know how that related to the current time of day. 

All in all, when they arrived at the Headquarters, Stiles was decidedly bored. He's good at sitting around in silence just... thinking, but he's not _that _good, and paperwork is a chore he'd always rather avoid. 

Still. Here they are. Sort of.

They get out of the van next to a large, very tall building, in what is obviously New York. 

"Huh," Stiles says, looking around. "New York."

Coulson nods, and Stiles follows him into the building as the van is driven away. They go in, deep inside, and head straight for an office. Coulson's, probably, judging by the way he opens the case and puts the paperwork into a drawer then sits comfortably in the chair behind the desk. 

"So what's next?" Stiles asks. 

"We wait," Coulson says, "For the others."

And so they do. 

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

'The others' turn out to be a few SHIELD Agents and the rest of the supernatural aware candidates. Or agents. Stiles is pretty sure they're trying to hire all of them. 

Or they have. Stiles hasn't gotten many answers mostly because he hasn't asked many questions. He knows, given that they're spies, their answers would probably be very frustrating, so he just hasn't bothered. 

Everyone introduces themselves, at the indication of Coulson. He appears to be the most senior agent in the room, what with everyone's countenance, but Stiles could be wrong quite easily. He's just got a hunch. 

"Amy Lea," The first hunter smiles and holds out her hand. Stiles shakes it. "Stiles," Stiles says. "Stilinski," He adds, belatedly. 

Druid one two and three are "Sarah Smith," "Drew Richards," and "Vira Blake" respectively. The other hunter is "Devin Blackshaw."

He looks a lot like Chris if Chris were dark-haired and deeply tanned. "Argent, right?" Stiles asks, and the man nods. 

"You know the families?" Amy asks. "Just two," Stiles says. "Calavera and Argent." Met their leaders, too. He doesn't say that, though.

"They're the ones that matter here," Amy says. "And in Mexico, South America, and France, of course."

"Right," Stiles says. "Argents only for France, though."

Amy nods. 

The druid Vira - a dark-skinned woman with a shock of bright teal hair, who looks maybe a few years Stiles' senior - speaks up. "So we've signed all the papers, yeah? What next?"

Stiles is being eyed in that annoying 'why are you here' way by Sarah - the druid with blonde hair and enough wrinkles to say she's about fifty. He raises an eyebrow at her and she looks away. Stiles hears a snort, and glances at the man over on the other side of the room - the werejaguar, Stiles assumes, since he's not dressed like an agent. He's not introduced himself yet, though. 

"A simple briefing," Coulson says. "I will explain what the job entails, and then you decide if you want to do everything you will have to. If not, you can leave - and I recommend forgetting about all of this if you do. If you say yes, then we'll require a briefing on what you know and what you don't. That would be all for today - afterwards, we recommend getting to know each other. There are rooms you'll be set up with for the duration of your stay. We have wifi, as well. And coffee."

"Is that secure?" Drew asks. 

"We have some of the best security experts in the business," Coulson says. "So, yes. Very."

Stiles believes it. 

"Alright, okay, sure," Vira says. "I say yes." She sounds impatient - ready to get to work. Stiles figures there's probably going to be a sort of trial or... training period, so she shouldn't get her hopes up just yet. 

"I want the job," The werejaguar says. He flashes a smile. "It should be entertaining."

"Go on then," Devin says. "Sure." "What he means," Amy says, "Is yes. I'd like the job, too."

Sarah nods her assent. Drew follows. 

"Alright," Stiles says. "Yeah. I want the job."

"Good," Phil smiles, a small thing. "There's a larger room down the hall. Agent Lee?"

Lee nods, and their little rag-tag group of the supernaturally involved follow him to the meeting room. He closes the door behind Drew, who's the last one inside, and probably stays there guarding it so they don't just go wandering off.

Stiles looks around the room. It's a normal meeting room; large table, tonnes of chairs, a board to display shit. There's a human-sized vent grate which is a bit odd, but they are spies. It's probably a spy thing, having vents you can crawl through. 

Stiles sits down, as do the others. A few minutes later, another person shows up. 

"I am Maria Hill," She introduces herself. "Deputy Director of SHIELD." She strides over to the board and turns it on, displaying information on the screen. Not a board, then, just a display that looks like one. 

"For the interim, you will answer to me and Agent Phil Coulson. There is an initiative that may require your aid in the future, and so over the next three month period we will be evaluating all of you to see which of you would be best for a liaison between the new department and the initiative." 

"What initiative?" Vira asks. 

Hill looks at all of them, decidedly unimpressed. "That's classified," She says. "However - tell me. What do you think it could be?"

"World defence," Drew says. "Against other threats. Supernatural, extra-terrestrial."

Hill looks pleased. "Good guess." She says. "You, Smith - what do you think?"

"Investigation," She says. "Into the use of the supernatural and the potential of extraterrestrial lifeforms."

"That would be your team, in part," Hill states. "You? Delgado?"

The werejaguar shrugs. "The last line of defence," He says. "People who can and will fight whatever threats come up in the future. We're supposed to prevent supernatural ones before they can become a problem."

"Good," She says. "Stilinski?"

Stiles grimaces but thinks. Well. "It's all been said, hasn't it?" He says. "People who can defend earth against the shit that gets thrown our way, internally and externally."

Hill nods. "Precisely." She clicks a button and the screen zooms in on one part of the information so that it can actually be read. 

"One of you will work with Project P.E.G.A.S.U.S," She states, "Because perhaps supernatural knowledge will help. Sarah, you've been chosen for this task due to your experience with people using tech alongside magic," Hill says. 

"Of course," Sarah says. "We'll send you off there tomorrow," Hill adds. "So don't get comfortable, but do make sure to get to know your teammates."

Sarah nods, once. Allowing. 

Drew and Vira are getting paired up with one 'handler' and they're helping him help his agent with the apparent werewolf based issue that's arisen in their mission. Whatever it is. 

All this clandestine shit is starting to grate on Stiles a little. Not because it's secretive, but because he's not in on the secret. 

"Blackshaw, Stilinski, and Delgado, you'll be working on a problem that's arisen in one of Agent Coulson's agent's mission," Hill says. "We'll show you the brief tomorrow. As it stands - Agent Warwick will tell you where you'll be staying. If you want to ask a question, understand that much of the information we have is classified until the trial period is over, and even then a lot is still above your clearance level. Dismissed."

Well, Stiles was right about a trial period. 

They never did explain exactly what the job entailed, though. Bastards, the lot of these spies. Very, very good though. And Delgado, the werejaguar, was right. It is pretty entertaining, but less in the fun and more in the interesting sense of the word.

Suffice to say, Stiles doubts he's going to be bored. 

* * *

Stiles realises very quickly that he was put with the hunter and the werejaguar for a reason; to mediate. This was very stupid because Stiles is and has always been a terrible mediator. He doesn't see the point of it. In his very humble opinion, it's a waste of everyone's goddamn time. Either people get along or they don't, and that's that, and they can work through it on their own. 

Mediators a lot of the time turn out to be manipulators. People who want things to go a certain way for their own gain. 

Stiles speaks from experience. 

The rooms the Agents stay in in the Headquarters are alright. Very militaristic, with just beds and foot-lockers, two bedside tables between the three beds in the room they've been given. There's an on-suite, though; no communal showers in sight, which is at least some sort of plus to the accommodation. Stiles would still rather stay in a hotel, though. More privacy, even if it is shitty and dirty and worse than this in just about every other way.

Delgado takes the right and Blackshaw takes the left, so Stiles is stuck with his anxiety and being worried about potential attacks from both sides, because Stiles is - paranoid, admittedly. He doesn't know these people and he's not, _decidedly not _comfortable with this, but, whatever. Here he is. 

Stiles puts his case in the foot-locker (they're big foot-lockers) as the other two sit around on their set beds. It's quiet and awkward and Stiles would rather be anywhere else, but, oh well. Ignoring his social-anxiety with the effort of sheer practice, Stiles drops onto his bed, facing the ceiling, and asks a simple question.

"So, where are you both from?" He asks. "I'm California. Pretty decent town all told, excluding the death rate."

"... North Carolina," Devin says. 

"A small town in the south of Mexico," Delgado says, cautiously. "You've probably never heard of it."

"Most people haven't heard of Beacon Hills either," Stiles says. "Hey, it must be a bitch dealing with the Calaveras, man. They're real shitty from what I remember."

Delgado's lips quirk up. "Indeed," He says. "They aren't very forgiving."

"When did you ever need to meet the Calaveras?" Devin asks confused. Understandably so, since they don't tend to fuck with North America, what with it being Argent territory. 

"A few years ago, I guess," Stiles says. It all blurs together, and sometimes he forgets the dates. "Couple, actually. Only known about the supernatural since 2011, but a whole lot of shit went down in very rapid succession. You?"

Half-truth, misdirection, deflection, distraction. It's an art, really. 

"About a decade," Devin says. "Wendigo killed my sister."

"Ouch," Stiles says, sympathetically. 

Delgado grimaces. 

"You never said your name," Devin says, looking at Delgado.

"Aldo Ortiz Delgado," Delgado says. 

"And you," Devin looks at Stiles. "I doubt your parents called you _Stiles."_

"Rude," Stiles says. "True. I can't pronounce it, though, and it's terrible, so, no."

Aldo inclines his head. 

Devin frowns, but shrugs and looks away.

"Well, I'm starving," Stiles says, "Since they picked me up at six and I haven't eaten, so, I'm going to go see if we can get something or if we're allowed to leave, I don't know - any of you hungry?"

"I could eat," Aldo says. 

"Sure," Devin says. His eyes are a little wary whenever he looks at Aldo, and Stiles sighs mentally. He's probably only coming because he thinks Aldo might just murder Stiles in the hallway, like an idiot (it would be idiotic to do that, him thinking that he'd do it is therefore also idiotic), but, fuck it. Stiles is ready and willing to take advantage.

Like he said. Mediators are just good manipulators. And good in terms of skill - rarely in terms of morals. 

"Alright," Stiles says. "Anything in particular? I could really go for pizza."

"Meat lovers, if that's the case," Aldo says, easily. 

Devin reflexively flicks his eyes over to Aldo, instead of using them to navigate the corridor, and so nearly walks straight into the door that opens to their left.

Stiles grabs his shoulder and halts his movement in order to avoid this, and frowns at the woman who emerges. 

She looks at them each in turn, assessing. Stiles feels like he's being read like a fucking open book, and he really doesn't like it. 

"You would be the supernatural agents," She says. 

"Supernatural aware agents," Stiles says. He drops his hand to his side, then shoves them both in his pockets. "I'm Stiles," He says. 

"Not your name," She says. "A nickname. I've heard it before - you'd be Stilinski, then? The Polish-American one."

"Not that I've ever been to Poland," Stiles says, self-depricatingly. "Or even know the language - but yeah."

"I can tell," The woman says. She brushes some of her long red hair behind herself and looks at Aldo.

"Delgado," He says. "A pleasure."

"Your last name," She says. "Distancing technique. I'd be careful about showing an aversion to getting to know others, they'll use it against you." 

Delgado inclines his head. 

The woman looks at Devin, who shifts on the spot.

"Experienced but inexperienced," She said. "Hunter, right? Ten-year revenge plan, but no other knowledge. Good with a gun, to finish the trio of skills. Melee, both, guns and gadgets. Hmm." She looks him over. "Devin Blackshaw, right?"

"Yeah," He says. "That's me."

"Natasha," She says. "Natasha Romanoff. You'll be working with me."

"Oh," Stiles says. "You're Coulson's agent, aren't you? The one with the classified job. That's why we were put here - so we'd bump into you. Ease us into a conversation in a less formal setting than a meeting room. A way to assess us with our guards down."

Natasha smiles. "Good guess," She says. "Come on. There's a good pizza place two blocks away, Agent Barton swears by it."

She turns, and Stiles notes that she's dressed like a civilian; i.e., no shield wear. 

She'd planned this. Or they all had - gah. Spies. 

Stiles follows, as do Devin and Aldo. 

* * *

Out of the building and two blocks down the street, Natasha stops in front of a shop with no sign and few clients. They're ages away from most Italian shops are, probably because that means people would rather come here than go all the way over there - but, the lack of a sign kind of contradicts that. Stiles is a little bit confused, all told. 

He's never been anywhere bigger than Quantico, and New York - that's a whole other ball game. 

(Really, until Quantico, Stiles had never left Beacon Hills. His Dad's job and Mom's condition never left any room for holidays, to be blunt about it.)

"Here we are," Natasha says. She pushes open the door, which swings silently shut after they're all inside and Stiles lets go of it. The person behind the bar - because it has a bar as the counter, Stiles assumes - looks up and perks up when he sees them (or, more specifically, when he sees Natasha).

"Natalie!" He exclaims, happily. "It's been a while." He's got that accent, the one you can tell is Bostonian, but it sounds tempered with years of living elsewhere, all over; there are hints of french, which means he's probably stayed in France for a longer period than the other places he's been. 

"Hi, Mark," 'Natalie' says. "Table for four?" 

"Of course," He says, indicating the mostly empty room. "Take a seat, any seat. I'll be right over with the menu."

Natasha smoothly slides into a booth, facing the windows and the exits. Stiles slides in next, then Aldo. Devin takes the chair, and seems uncomfortable doing so; he's facing them, with no eye on the door or the windows. 

Oh well.

Mark returns with the menu and Natasha orders in mildly accented Italian, though he can't place what the accent is. Stiles just orders a pizza. Devin gets a steak and seems mildly annoyed when Aldo does the same. 

Mark replies to Natasha in Italian, and Stiles for a moment thinks they could be talking spy stuff, because it's obvious neither Stiles or the other two new 'agents' know any Italian, but then, if Mark knew, he probably wouldn't call her Natalie. 

Mark whisks off to go get their food, and then the table is silent.

"Twenty questions," Natasha smiles. "Or two truths and a lie?"

"This isn't a high school party," Devin says. 

"Humour me," Natasha replies. "I'd like to know more about the people I'm going to be working with all of a sudden."

Now that's manipulation, plain and simple. Stiles narrows his eyes at her, just a little, and she - fucking winks. That's hilarious, she's immediately forgiven. Probably the point, but, oh well. Stiles is paranoid, but god, that shit's tiring. He'll trust her just a bit, for now. He'll be back to full-level paranoia in the morning, or maybe even just after he's eaten.

"Truths and a lie," Delgado says.

"That's cheating," Stiles protests. Aldo chuckles. 

"Cheating?" Natasha asks. 

"This man is a walking lie detector," Stiles says. "All werecreatures are. They can hear heartbeats."

"Useful," Natasha says. "I'll recommend you for interrogation training. Heartbeats aren't everything."

Aldo inclines his head. 

That's what Stiles has been _saying. _Maybe if people heard it from a spy they'd understand it better? Or, well, believe it more?

"Alright," Devin says, leaning back in his chair. "Twenty questions it is, then."

The food arrives then, so they wait until the waiter is gone before they start. 

"Alright," Devin says. "I'll go first. First pet?" He asks.

"Boa constrictor," Stiles says, lips quirking up at the corner. "Used to feed him rats. Dunno where he went."

"You lost a _boa constrictor?" _Devin asks, disbelieving. 

"A Boa constrictor _baby," _Stiles defends himself. "And I was seven."

"Well that's more understandable," Aldo allows. 

"Is he lying?" Natasha asks. She knows he's not, Stiles just _knows _she knows he isn't, but he thinks she's testing Aldo.

"No," Aldo says. "His heartbeat is normal for what I've heard the last hour." 

"Good," Natasha nods. "Any other reasons?"

"He didn't do the eye thing," Devin says. "His eyes didn't flick, uh, left?"

"Not particularly reliable," Natasha says, and Stiles agrees. When he first found the reasons people could tell a lie, he'd figured out ways around them, and that's one of the most well-known ones in the _book._

"But acceptable, for someone without training," She says. "I have never had a pet. Aldo?"

"A dog," He says. "She was my grandfather's for two years, then my mother's, and then mine. Died four years back."

Natasha nods. "My question," She says. "Will go last. Aldo?"

Aldo ponders for a moment, which gives them all time to eat some of the food. It's great, honestly, one of the best pizzas, if not _the _best pizza Stiles has ever had. Fan-fucking-tastic pizza. He can't speak for the other food, though the rest look like they enjoy it. The steaks do look good - Devin's well-done is less appealing, but still nice (Stiles prefers medium-rare, by the way), and whatever Natasha is eating - some weird sauce pasta dish - looks just fine. She seems to be enjoying it, for - what little emotion she's been showing so far. 

"Alright," Aldo leans back. "First love?" He asks. 

"Not yet," Natasha says, smoothly.

"Lisa," Devin says. "First year of college. Moved to England, haven't heard from her since."

"Shame," Stiles says. "Lydia Martin. Entirely one-sided, honestly. Got over it eventually."

"Eventually?" Natasha looks at him, critically.

Stiles shrugs. "Junior year of high school."

"And the start?" She prods. 

"I've answered the question," He points out, "But, harmless. Third grade."

"You didn't fall in love in third grade," Devin says. "I caught feelings for a girl and they stayed for - third, fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh, eighth.... yeah they stayed for a _long _time," Stiles says. "I'd say I did. And I'm the only judge of who I've fallen in love with, thanks, dude."

"Love can happen at any time," Aldo says. "It's not something you can control."

"Alright, alright," Devin says. "Next question."

"Best thing that's ever happened to you," Stiles says. 

"Joining SHIELD," Natasha says, wryly. There's truth to that, Stiles thinks, even if it's presented as a joke. After all - he'd know. 

Devin looks at her askance, disbelieving. He's done a lot of that today; not believing things, and Stiles wonders how on earth the wendigo thing must have gone down for him to be in the whole supernatural mess - he doesn't seem to be the sort of person that would easily believe in the supernatural, generally speaking. 

He probably watched it happen, Stiles realises, hollowly. 

"Getting free of the Calaveras' oversight," Aldo admits. Stiles winces, sympathetically. "The Argents - at least they're obvious about their surveillance. With the Calaveras, you're always watched, and you never know how or where from."

"Right," Stiles agrees. "At least the Argents have the - whatever, to just buy a house and move in next door."

Aldo cracks a smile, and Devin frowns at him before shrugging at Stiles. "Dunno," He says. "Lisa, probably."

"Ouch," Stiles says. Devin grimaces in agreement. 

"My turn," Natasha says. "Worst experience?"

Well, that's just rude. 

"Wendigo killed my sister in front of me," Devin says, and then takes a swig of the beer he'd ordered. Damn, Stiles should have thought of that. 

"The Calavera's forcing me to leave Mexico," Aldo admits. He doesn't extrapolate the why, but Stiles can guess. 

"Stiles?" Natasha asks. 

C'mon, that's not long enough to think about it. Stiles frowns at her for a second, deliberately takes an age to finish his slice of pizza.

"Dunno," He says. 

Aldo raises an eyebrow at him, unimpressed. 

"Really?" Devin asks.

"I don't know," Stiles says. "A lot's happened." All through his life, a lot's happened. The way she phrased the question, i.e.e 'worst experience' isn't necessarily supernatural, and - his mother's death was horrible, but so was being possessed by the nogitsune. It's a hard choice to make, what out of the last nineteen years of his life was the objective 'worst thing'. 

Natasha waits, patiently. 

"Devin said 'dunno' to my question," Stiles grumbles at his pizza. Devin snorts. 

"Fine, I guess my mom's death at the hands of FTD," Stiles says, letting out a breath. It's a selfish worst experience, because the possession killed a lot of people, and hurt a lot more, but... losing his mother like he did, watching her deteriorate for years and eventually just - fucking _attack _him, god. That's probably the worst, personally, isn't it?

It should be the nogitsune. He feels awful, hey, thanks guilt for returning, but. It just isn't. 

"FTD?" Aldo asks. 

"Frontotemporal dementia," Stiles says, automatically. This is not the first time he's had to explain it, and it won't be the last. "Easily mistaken for bipolar disorder. It's the only form of dementia that can hit teenagers, and - it's pretty shitty, watching a victim deteriorate over time."

"Sounds it," Devin says, heavily. 

"Well, yeah," Stiles says. "She was diagnosed when I was six," He says. "Died when I was nearly eleven. Shit happens."

"Ouch," Devin says. "That's-"

"True," Stiles says. He finishes his pizza. "Well, I've never been to New-York before," Stiles says. "So I'm going to explore."

"Pointless, you'll get lost," Aldo says. 

"Exploration will help me find my way around, dude," Stiles says. "Always got google maps if I do get lost."

"Try not to." Natasha advises. "May I have your phone?"

"Why?" He asks. 

She smiles. "Just to get the right maps app. We'd rather you didn't input SHIELD headquarters into google, after all."

Stiles shrugs and nods and hands his phone over, once he unlocks it. Natasha downloads the right app from the store and hands it back.

"Not a stark phone?" She asks. 

"Not got the money," He says, distractedly, inputting what he needs to into the maps app. Hmm. Handy. He sets up an itinerary for the (late) afternoon and evening, then puts his phone away. 

"Hmm." She hums, and takes out her phone from her bag. "Ah." She says, looking at the message on the screen. "Well." She stands. "I'm needed back at headquarters - either explore together or come back with me."

"I'll go," Devin says, standing. "I'm beat."

"It's only afternoon," Aldo says. "I'll explore."

Natasha nods, once, and the two leave, leaving Stiles in the both with Aldo, and a wad of cash on the table that Stiles hadn't noticed Natasha putting down.

_'for the meal and the tip,' _The little note reads, and he knows she wasn't writing this at the table, so yeah. Fucking _spies, _planning out every interaction before they happen. 

Stiles stands, as does Aldo, and they leave the restaurant, after signalling Mark and using the cash Natasha left - 'Natalie' left - for the food. 

"Where first?" Aldo asks, easily. Stiles shrugs, and takes out his phone. "I was thinking the closest landmark," Stiles says.

"Makes sense to me," Aldo replies, and Stiles nods. They set off in the right direction, and as they walk there, Stiles thinks maybe this will turn out alright, the whole - SHIELD thing. It better, because Stiles doesn't sign NDAs for nothing. 

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MCU Timeline has also been condensed, to fit Iron Man 1 & 2 and Thor's first debut before 2014 and after 2011. Cap's left where he was in canon; 2011, and Bruce's shit happened in 2013, to accommodate for Tony being in the end-credits scene. I feel bad for Tony. At least Maria's alive??
> 
> So, as follows:  
2011:  
Iron Man 1  
Captain America['s modern-day section, obviously]  
2012:  
Thor  
Iron Man 2  
2013:  
Hulk   
2014:  
[This fic]   
Avengers [This fic] (late Nov 2014) 
> 
> This allows suspension of disbelief in Stiles, being the wonderful nerd he is (see: Captain America T-Shirt in s1) not ever once mentioning anything like this going down, and not ever once having this shit affect any of what went down in BH. Because it would have. Even if only a little, it would. It's also to allow for the suspension of disbelief that SHIELD wasn't knocking on the supernatural's door at the time; they were very busy. A frozen super soldier and a dying superhero genius and a green-rage-genius and aliens from Asgard are... a bit more immediately important.

The next day - after Stiles and Aldo explored New York, you know, visited the various landmarks, then after that went back to SHIELD and got bustled back into the room they'd been given, a few hours, and after Stiles had had his fill of sleep (minimal; he was the first to wake) - Stiles gets ready in the bathroom, cleans his teeth, leaves the bedroom, and nearly bumps into a guy who drops from the ceiling.

"Knew the vents were for a reason," Stiles says, automatically. "_Spies."_

"Should I be offended?" The man says. He holds out a hand. "I'm Agent Clint Barton - you're one of the new recruits, right? For the supernatural shit?"

"That's me," Stiles says. "Disposable agent number 34." Clint laughs, as they shake hands. 

"Let me guess - Stilinski?"

"Let me guess," Stiles says, "You dropped down into this hallway because your room is technically around here, even if you don't really use it, because people who's handler is Agent Coulson are on the same corridor? Natasha told you, right?"

"You guys have been shoved here for convenience," Clint says, agreeing by lack of denial. "You'll be working with Nat so it just makes sense. Figured I'd show my face - introduce myself. I work with Nat on missions a lot, and if this one turns out to be bigger than we thought, Phil's gonna reassign me."

"Gotcha," Stiles says. "While you're here, though - this place serve breakfast, or?"

"Burnt toast, oatmeal and black coffee, if that's your thing," Clint says. "Otherwise there's a cafe down the street Nat likes, and a bakery the other direction."

"Figures," Stiles says. "Well. At least there's something."

"You're the one we poached from the FBI, right?" Clint asks. Stiles is of the opinion that none of these agents 'asking' are actually unaware of these things. There are probably profiles on all the candidates, and they've probably read all of them.

Given what Coulson knew, Stiles feels mostly uncomfortable about that. But. Nothing he can do now, and he doubts spies in an organisation the FBI is afraid of (or at least, some of the FBI are afraid of) are completely squeaky clean. 

"FBI Intern," Stiles says. "I wasn't FBI just yet."

"Well, we pay," Clint says. "Come on. Wake the others up and me and Nat'll show you the best places to get food around here. Can't be too careful - you don't want to get poisoned."

"No, can't imagine that'd be fun," Stiles says, flashing back to the chemist. "Yeah, I'll wake them."

Stiles turns around and goes back into the room. Delgado is up, frowning slightly at the entrance, so, in turn, at Stiles - once he's entered. 

"Right, you know," Stiles says, and moves to wake up Blackshaw. He's used to people who don't wake up well, so when he slaps him on the shoulder he moves out of the way of the returned, semi-alert arm flail that was probably supposed to be an attack of some kind.

"C'mon," Stiles says. "Breakfast time."

Stiles grabs his jacket and puts it on - Delgado looks at him weirdly, but he ignores that (it's probably because he's wearing four layers and it's a warm day out, from what Stiles read on his phone earlier) - then moves to leave. He remembers leaving the Hunter and the Werejaguar alone in a room together is a monumentally stupid idea, so instead, he leans awkwardly in the doorway. Clint comes over, thank god, as does a civilian-ly dressed Natasha (Clint's in full uniform, by the looks of him, and honestly, sleeveless archer gear seems a bit of an odd choice - what if you got shot in the arm?) and they enter the room, completely at ease.

"Thank you," Natasha says, probably because Stiles standing where he is is holding open the door and that's the polite thing to say, also - she's a spy. 

He's going to repeat that thought a lot. Stiles hopes it doesn't get repetitive because that'd be _really_ annoying. 

"No prob," Stiles says. "So where are we going?"

"Up," Clint says, smacking Devin in the leg that's escaped his covers in the night. Devin makes a noise of discontent, but he grumbles and sits up, wipes sleep from his eyes with great reluctance. 

"Time is it?" He asks.

"Six," Natasha says. Devin winces.

"It's up to you," She adds, addressing Stiles and the other two, too. "Depends on what you want."

"Just breakfast," Stiles says. "Cereal or pancakes or - literally whatever the fuck." He'd be happy with an apple at this point. He hadn't eaten much yesterday. One pizza is not sufficient enough food for a - decently - healthy nineteen-year-old, thanks. 

"Alright," Natasha says. "Delgado? Devin?"

Delgado shrugs. Devin drops back onto his bed. "Whatever," He says. "Sleep."

"Fine," Clint says. "Stilinski, Delgado - we'll just, show you where food is."

Stiles nods, and Aldo stands. The four leave Devin in the room on his bed, leave the building. 

"The cafe has a bigger selection," Natasha says. "Makes really good coffee, too," Clint adds. 

"If I wanted to be hyperactive I wouldn't take my Adderall," Stiles says, wryly. "Rather avoid the crash, too."

"Right," Clint nods. "Well, they do other stuff, too, like smoothies and milkshakes. Anyway - come on." And the two Agents lead Stiles and Aldo to the cafe. There's a little bell that rings when the door's opened and again when it's shut behind Aldo, and a waitress comes skidding to a halt in front of them.

"Hey," She smiles. "Table for four? Right this way," She doesn't wait for a response, just starts leading their little group towards a table, from which you could see all entrances and out of all windows. 

Aldo sat, then Clint. That left Stiles next to Natasha, and suddenly their exit was barred by two spies. 

Hmm. Are they technically spies now as well? Working for SHIELD? That's a thought. Stiles is gonna technically be a spy.

Huh. Nice. 

"So," Natasha starts. "Today, you'll be writing up what you know and what you know to be your weak spots regarding the supernatural." Clint lifts her bag from under the table and hands Stiles and Aldo a tablet each. Higher tech than Stiles is used to - but not higher than what's on the market. 

SHIELD's logo is on the back. As is the one for Stark Industries.

"Starks' a contractor," Clint says. "Signed on a couple of years back." He explains. 

"Huh," Stiles says. 

"Tony Stark?" Aldo asks, impressed, as he looks over the tablet. 

"Yes, the Iron Man himself," Natasha says. She looks at Stiles, who has, thank you very much, at least looked up the events of the last few years since joining up with the FBI.

Once again: he's annoyed he didn't see the 'I am Iron Man' moment on live TV, but oh well. He was busy at the time. Scott got a bit bitten before that happened, you know, and then everything sort of snowballed from there and Stiles hadn't paid much of any attention to the news or the gossip at the time that wasn't heavily super_natural_-based, and alas, that did not include super_heroes_. The last - three years or so, nearly four now, he's been out of the loop, so to speak. But he caught up, when he joined the FBI, and there wasn't really a good time to say 'oh, by the way, superheroes' during the whole Anuk-ite business. 

"Hmm." Aldo turns on the tablet. 

"Hello." A voice says. "Please state your name."

"Go on," Clint says. He looks a little- maybe a little warily at the tablet, but in a sort of... resigned way. "VI, nothing to worry about."

"What else would it be?" Stiles asks. "Unless he's figured out AIs -"

"Luckily for us, it's a VI," Clint says, not denying that Stark's figured out AIs aware enough to make spies wary. "No Skynet here."

"Aldo Ortiz Delgado," Aldo says, and the tablet unlocks. 

Stiles powers his up, says "Stiles Stilinski," And the tablet unlocks. "I _do _have a file, then," He says. 

"Candidates aren't just brought in off the street," Natasha says, smiling. "Profiling is a requirement."

"Gathering blackmail, you mean," Stiles says. Fuck Raeken, honestly. "Alright, so what am I looking at?"

"If it's blackmail we're blackmailing ourselves," Clint says. "There should be a file with the instructions on what to write. Just a questionnaire, basically. But with more detail." 

"Well you are _spies," _Stiles says. "I don't doubt that's possible."

Something flickers across Natasha's face. "Accountability," She says. "That's all they're for."

"Right," Stiles mutters, not believing her for a second. "Alright, sure." He finds the file and opens it, looks at the list of questions and sighs. "How long, thereabouts?" He asks.

"A good few hours," Clint says, grimacing. "This place has wifi if you need it. The VI should stop hackers."

"Right." Stiles settles into his chair more. "Alright," He says, again, and starts answering the questions. 

* * *

** _First encounter with the supernatural. _ **

_My best friend was bitten by an alpha werewolf while we were out in the preserve. Technically, my first encounter is when I saw him the next day._

** _Known supernatural element(s)? (species, magic, etc.)_ **

_Werewolves. Werecoyotes. Nogitsune. The Wild Hunt, Ghost Riders. Kanima. Banshees. Druids, their symbols, Mountain Ash, Wolfsbane. Nemetons. Technically Chimera; scientific manipulation of supernatural creatures to create human-creature(-creature-creature, etc) hybrids; ex wendigo, lamprey. Werecoyote, werewolf. Werewolf, werejaguar. Werejaguars. Astomi. Berserker. Black ooze; very bad no good things are happening because of something supernatural affecting a person negatively, like the rejection of a bite. Girtablilu; werescorpion. Human Sacrifices. Kitsune. Hellhounds. Oni. Telluric Currents. Shapeshifting - see the different were-s and the others Darachs (dark druids) can do it too. True Alpha. Wendigos. An Alpha that kills their beta's gains their power on top of their own. Werewolf Eye Color signifies status; Red, Gold, Blue, Teal. Löwenmensch; werelion. Resurrection. Moonstone affects how the moon affects werewolves very, very negatively. The creature you become reflects what you are inside; a werewolf can turn someone, and that person then be anything from a werewolf to a kanima to a werejaguar or banshee, or - anything, I guess. _

** _Explain in detail one specific experience with the supernatural based on the above. _ **

_There were a pack of alpha werewolves in Beacon Hills - came to... do some shit, I guess. Their motivations fluctuated. Wanted one guy, then another, then everyone dead, then the leader turns around and joins the good guys. A whole mess. Point is, because of them, a Darach comes to town. Shapeshifting isn't a purely were-based talent, because she could change her appearance between her pretty damned gross and mildly terrifying real face, and her old one, from before her death. She used a nemeton that had been previously used in an accidental human sacrifice, using the life that had been... paid, i guess, to the nemeton to give herself another. She then used the nemeton, years later, during the whole alpha pack thing, by killing people in certain groups - guardians, teachers, you know - for extra power. She disappeared. Pretty sure she's probably dead by now. Jennifer Blake, by the way. Our English Teacher. That's weird, looking back. _

** _Worst plan when it came to dealing with a supernatural threat in your past?_ **

_Splitting up. Working with the enemy of your enemy, generally. That old adage is really really very stupid. _

** _Best plan when it came to dealing with a supernatural threat in your past?_ **

_Not winging it. Not having a plan too set in stone and too reliant on outside factors. Not making a plan without all the facts. _

** _Describe in detail a magical phenomenon or a supernatural being, and how they work. _ **

_Mountain ash stops genuinely supernatural beings from crossing it when spread on the floor; it works as a magical barrier. Chimeras and pure humans, druids or otherwise, can cross, True Alphas can probably cross if they exert enough effort, depending on the True Alpha. It can be used as a poison on people who ingest it prior to them receiving the bite; it forces a semi-rejection, in that you don't become a were[insert here], but you also don't die. It can be used by pretty much anyone, so long as you believe it will work. Druids generally have a mastery of its use, if they're good druids/very evil Darachs. _

It went on. Once Stiles was done, he was very glad of it.

"Send it to Phil," Clint says. Natasha lowers her nail-file - metal, sharp at the point - and looks over at Aldo while Stiles does as asked. 

"Done," Aldo nods to Natasha, and he also sends his off to Agent Coulson. 

* * *

Devin's done his when they're back, and it looks like he's had coffee judging by the mug on the bedside table, but Stiles couldn't tell you when. He's no werewolf; can't scent an estimated time from the ceramic object. 

"Devin, Stiles," Natasha says, "Follow Clint. Aldo, you'll be with me."

Stiles nods, and follows Clint out of the room, alongside Devin. Natasha continues talking to Aldo, but the door closes behind him before Stiles can make out any of what she's saying.

"Teams need balance," Clint says. "Nat's showing him melee. I'll be showing you the range today - whatever works best, we'll go with."

Devin nods. They follow Clint through three hallways, up a flight of stairs, down two hallways and into a large room that takes up a partial merge of two floors; this one, and the one above. 

"Bows, guns of all kinds, crossbows - darts, even, if that's your thing," Clint says. Stiles knows how to handle a gun, now, thanks to being - well, alone and paranoid, but also an FBI intern. The melee stuff he knows - some basic weapon-less defensive and offensive manoeuvres and a bit on using a knife, as they're common items and it's easy to find them in a house, if you're ambushed at home - just grab a knife from your kitchen, if you're able. Or keep one under your pillow, but that seems a little dangerous. Stiles keeps a bat - a new one, he gave the old, dented, sturdy and reliable one that got him through beacon hills to Mason - next to his bedside table and figures that's enough, and on the plus side, there are no sharp objects near his head. 

The type of gun he knows is a pistol, just, whatever one was available at the range - he went for what was standard-issue for FBI Agents, if it was there, just to familiarise himself with it. 

"I guess I'll just..." Stiles gestures at the small guns range - one and two-handed pistols, hand-canons, revolvers, other weird little guns he doesn't recognise at all - and moves over there. Devin makes a beeline for the shotguns, checks through them and grabs one off the wall, then sets about shooting the targets. Stiles gets on with it; grabs a pistol at random, sees whether one or two hands is more comfortable on the grip - two, it turns out, so the recoil is probably going to be horrible, but that's fine. 

Stiles checks the chamber, turns off the safety. He lifts the gun up, points it at the target - aims down the iron sights at the figure's head, and pulls the trigger after a breath. 

It's not a great shot, but it's not glancing, either. Stiles tries again. Other side of wrong; he overcompensated for the left-lean, whoops. Stiles shifts the gun over a little, shoots again - it's a little up and a little off-centre, but it'd hurt like fuck to get hit in the corner of the eye just as much as in the centre, so, sure. Stiles isn't going to shoot anyone, ever, hopefully, being stood in front of a guy as his brains are blown out once (with a gun, to clarify - Lydia's scream at Valak is in its own category, and besides, he wasn't really close at the time, was he? Honestly Stiles kind of forgets, which is probably kind of rude, but on well. A lot's happened, in his defence, since then) is more times than he needs, thanks, but. You know. Eventually, he's probably not going to be able to avoid it. 

Again.

Stiles shoots the target _just _too far right, getting centre-right of the eye instead of centre, but, fuck it, that's good enough. Stiles swaps out the gun for the one he remembers Agent McAsshole using - it's not like Stiles would forget what killed the chemist, right, that wasn't a pleasant time at all, so of course it's stuck in his memories - and he raises one hand, and attempts to fire. One-handed shooting is less stable than with two, but the thing is - you won't always have two hands both free and ready to shoot, so you need to be able to shoot at least mostly accurately with both hands individually, just in case of a bad scenario like... one broken hand and someone advancing on you with murderous intent or some shit. 

Clint, done with Devin (who's moved on to assault rifles - semi-automatic; he doesn't have enough strength to manage full auto's recoil - ) for now, moves over to Stiles. 

"Formal training?" Clint asks.

"Semi," Stiles says. "Guy at the range was ex-FBI, you know - retired - so." Stiles reloads the gun, then attempts to empty the clip on the same spot, around where the heart is - it jumps about a bit, a bit up, or left, or whatever, and he frowns. 

"You're not bothered by the sound," Clint says. 

"Werewolves are louder," Stiles says, dryly. "Banshees worse."

"How so?" Clint asks. 

"Well, for one, Banshees can fucking implode your brains by screaming at you, so." Stiles adjusts his aim and hits the target in the centre of its left eye. Nice. "There's that. Can also give you hearing loss - bleeding from your internal ear? Not fun. Don't recommend."

"Does sound painful," Clint agrees. "You're holding the gun like it's going to hit you in the face. Just, look. Follow me." Clint picks up the same gun Stiles has - which, by the way, he's not holding like it's going to hit him in the face, though he is realistically and understandably wary of recoil, thank you very much - and demonstrates how to hold it. Stiles mimics, pretty well, and Clint tells him some minor adjustments to make before nodding, satisfied.

"Practice that," Clint says. "First. Get used to the gun - practice picking it up and getting the right grip on it. You need to make that instinct so you aren't worrying about it while you're trying to learn how to shoot steady."

"I've been at this for like a year," Stiles says. "I know all that."

"Your aim says otherwise." Clint shrugs. "Devin's with the assault rifles. I'll be up on the archery range; call if something blows up." Clint grins, and then he's off.

Stiles shrugs, and returns his attention to the gun in his hand. He takes Clint's advice, and starts repeatedly picking up and readjusting his grip on the gun, making sure he can do so quickly and efficiently. 

It'll take a while, but he figure's it'll be part of the job, now. It was always going to be a part of his job, though; FBI, Law Enforcement of any kind, really, means you need to know how to shoot - but, yeah. It'll take a while, still. Annoying, but unavoidable - so Stiles attempts to focus on this, and just this, for now. 

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

There is the slight problem of Stiles' friends and family, of course. Like, he loves them, but they are a bit nosy, like himself - but of course, you know, at least usually they leave well enough alone.

Alas.

"Why can't I visit?" Scott asks. Malia's leaning over his shoulder and frowning at Stiles, which usually makes him feel very bad about something. He's currently feeling very bad about not being able to tell them anything.

"That's the law," Stiles says. "No visitors. I'll be in BH next chance I get a break, guys. Promise."

"You better," Malia says. "We miss you."

"I'm easy to miss," Stiles grins. Malia rolls her eyes, smiles. "Look, man, even if we can't visit you where you are, we can come to New York, right? Meet at a landmark."

Stiles hesitates. "I dunno," He says. "They've got me booked up."

"You already know all that stuff though." Malia says. "Not well enough," Stiles shrugs. "I've only been practicing for like a year, Mal. These people have been working for a lot longer than that."

Scott frowns. "Why do you even need to know how to - do any of that?"

"Some reason an FBI agent or a Police Officer does, dude." Stiles says. "Protecting the innocent, or whatever."

Scott doesn't like guns, obviously, since he doesn't like people getting hurt. Stiles also, by the way, does not like people getting hurt, or himself getting hurt, which is why he's learning all this. Scott has claws and fangs and true alpha werewolf strengh; Stiles has a bat, a gun, and training. It balances. Hopefully.

"If they've got you booked up, why are you in a cafe?" Malia asks.

"Paperwork," Stiles groans. Scott smiles and Malia shakes her head, grimacing in sympathy.

"I gotta go," Stiles sighs. "Talk later?"

"Obviously." Malia smiles. "See you, dude." Scott says, and after Stiles replies in kind, the call ends.

"Friends of yours?" Agent Lin asks, scribbling away on her mountain of paperwork.

Turns out this cafe is frequented by SHIELD operatives. Logically; it's close, the food and drink is good, and it's safe enough, given someone's relative owns the place.

"Yep," Stiles says, allowing the gross oversimplification. The Agent hums and returns her full attention to her work, which reminds Stiles of his.

Writing everything he knows about the supernatural. In detail, logically, separated into different sections that focus on different things; creatures, magic, etc, with their own subsets; weres, druids, etc.

It's just, a lot, but well. Stiles isn't usually asked to write essays on things he's actually interested in, so it's also kind of alright. Much more fun and less distraction-prone than an econ paper, anyway.

* * *

Stiles' week goes the same. He sees Nat and Clint, alternates between melee and ranged combat training. He works with Delgado and Devin on the project they've been given, about writing everything they know into what basically ammounts to a bestiary but a) less biased and b) not just listing supernatural beings like they're animals and not, you know, ability-having people for the most part. 

Devin's the hardest to work with on that front, but Stiles knew that'd be the case. Especially when they get to wendigos. Stiles is no fan of the wendigos for some obvious reasons - the havok the family caused, Donovan - but, also... he's got to be objective, and when the family hadn't run out, they were just perfectly normal members of society. They didn't kill people, Stiles is pretty sure. And stealing from the morgue is bad, obviously, but what else were they supposed to do? They didn't want to hurt people, from what Stiles remembers. And before they went completely insane, they never chose to, as far as he's aware.

So.

Still.

Another weird thing, is that yeah. Stiles does have the most first-hand experience, out of the three of them, with the most varied assortment of supernaturals. Delgado mostly met hunters, other weres, and one wendigo; Devin was only after wendigos but had come into contact with a few werewolves and druids; and Stiles... had met way more than that.

Nemetons will cause that, he supposes.

* * *

"So." Natasha looks at the three of them. "I'm going to breif you on what I've found in this mission."

She turns on the display, which shows pictures - some a bit blurry, some low-quality - that were probably taken from a security feed or two.

"Security footage," She says, confirming what Stiles thought, "Showed this man's eyes glare brightly." She points at the picture which shows her back, a few other people, and a white flare where a person's face should be.

"He was looking straight at the camera," Stiles says. "Which means he knew someone was going to look at the footage - he didn't want people to know what he looked like, right?"

"Right," Natasha confirms. "So he hid himself," Delgado nods. "In the same way I have done myself, before."

"He wants you to know something's up." Devin says. "He wants you to know there's something unnatural going on."

"_Super_natural," Stiles says, "He wants a reaction, probably, but..."

"If he wanted to hide his face, he could have," Delgado agrees. "A mask, sunglasses. But he didn't."

Nat nods, and has the pictures changed to other ones. "It's a trade," She says. "Drugs, of course, but the cage..."

"Ah, shit," Stiles says, looking. "Beserkers."

"What?" She frowns at him.

"In the back, there, in that one." He points at a blurry picture on the bottom left. "They've got Beserkers."

"So they put something in the cage?" Devin asks.

"Beserkers are a problem," Stiles mutters. "It means there's probably a werejaguar somewhere in the operation."

"The cage," Delgado says, gravely. "Potentially for people the werejaguar wants... changed?"

"What?" Devin looks at them.

"Werejaguars can create and control Beserkers, remember?" Stiles says, shrugging. "If they want more beserkers -"

"Human trafficking." Nat purses her lips. "I see."

"Why wouldn't we be able to see anything in the cage?" Devin wonders.

"It could just be empty." Stiles says. "Maybe there were no people in this trade. Or maybe the cameras were cut out for that part, or maybe - I don't know. There _is _magic, right. Druids can do some shit, I wouldn't put it past a Darach's abilities to disguise the contents of a cage."

"All potentially true," Nat frowns at the display. "So this could be a larger operation than we thought."

"More than likely." Stiles says. "Hell, it could even be a whole pack."

"Werejaguars don't have packs," Delgado frowns. "My pal's pack consists of three werewolves, two humans, a banshee, a werecoyote, and two chimeras." Stiles says, with distaste. Theo didn't really consider himself a part of the pack, and Stiles agrees quite loudly, but Scott's got a big heart. Corey's fine, though. Good kid. "Unusual pack structures can happen, just because of unusual circumstances. Someone's true nature affects what they become - I'm pretty sure two werewolves could, feasibly, have a werejaguar kid. I mean, a werewolf bite made Kate Argent into a werejaguar, so..."

"It's logical," Delgado agrees. "Especially if there's werejaguar heritage, and given the locale of the poeple involved, that's likely."

Natasha nods. "I'll send you the evidence," She tells them. "This is partly a test of your deductive abilities."

"Fuck yeah," Stiles says. "Anywhere I can get string, a printer, and a clear marker board?"

* * *


End file.
